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Prose Poetry Hope Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Hope

These Prose Poetry Hope poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Hope. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Hope poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Salvation comes with a far greater sacrifice than blind faith and car-wash fundraisers

Travelling to a foreign land,
engaging in a cause not rightfully yours to join,
illegally taking up arms
with a desperate desire to save baby orphans
(only to dig them into the ground anyway);
is a life-altering experience.

There is an old line which goes something like:
"A part of my soul died on that cold, November morn."

But, such an experience can have the opposite effect entirely.
Yes! An experience such as this
can re-kindle a passion within,
so that every single particle,
every minute of each passing hour,
feels like a sacred gift -
the most sacred gift imaginable.

Yet upon returning home from such an experience,
after being grilled by Internal Affairs,
threatened with charges of International Treason,
Subterfuge and Espionage(but in the end,
you were only trying to save baby orphans
that you had to dig into the ground anyway,
so Internal Affairs drops the charges, telling you to scram),
you are inevitably slapped across the face
with an inescapable new reality....

....everyone appears to be whining and complaining
about the most trivial things,
as if everyone simultaneously feels wronged.

And this is wot you feel compelled to do:
you want to take these whiners,
transport them one-by-one
back to the foreign land with you.
After they see living skeletons
drag themselves across the dirt,
moaning, groaning, pleading for a drop of clean water, 
a miniscule morsel of food,
you hand the whiner a gun,
point toward an ominous dust-cloud on the horizon,
and this is wot you say:

"See the dust-cloud moving closer towards us.
It is filled with psychopathic horsemen.
These psychopathic butchers are wielding bayonets, machetes and Kalashnikovs.
If you and I do not successfully kill these mad horsemen,
they are going to chop apart all of the baby orphans
congregated in the courtyard over there.
Do you see the beautiful baby orphans in the courtyard?
Yes, those are the orphans.
And if we do not successfully defend this camp,
yet somehow survive with our lives,
we are going to spend the rest of the night
digging the baby orphans into the ground.

So, it best be high time you wipe the tears from your face,
stop worrying about how so-and-so called you a loser or wotever,
how your retirement funds appear to be shrinking
and so you won't be able to play as many games
of hitting the little white ball across a course 
fed with enough water to run an entire city.
Forget about your little boo-boo.
Pull-up your chin, straighten that spine,
and start squeezing the trigger like there's no tomorrow."






September 25th, 2011

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An Open Communique to the Rogues

To the seedlings sprouting in the 8 corners of the world:



An open communique can lead towards a perilous precipice overlooking jagged rocks being pounded by the relentless waves of a cold, apathetic ocean -- in such a circumstance, it doesn't take much to slip, to be pushed, to be sent over the edge, shattering upon the rocks below, sucked down by an undertow erasing all evidence of your prior existence. We have come to an impasse, the windows of opportunity in the jet-streams of change, are passing by at astounding speeds. A true Anarchist is not a Terrorist; leave such decrepit despondency to ultra-fanatic zealots and the New Gestapo. A true Anarchist should not fight for lawlessness, should not wish for chaotic, wanton destruction - such myths are propagated by automatons and the controllers themselves. A true Anarchist should not raise placards in protest, should not spray-paint graffiti upon the walls of gaudy Bauhaus replications, nor lob Molotov cocktails at an establishment so entrenched, four heads grow back to replace every head, decapitated. A true Anarchist dons a masque of mirages, reflecting nationalism, consumerism and Swastikas back into the eyes of the pushers. A true Anarchist does so by donning the uniforms of business districts, of the worker, of the paint-splattered, ink-stained artisan. When a true Anarchist gains the confidence and trust of Drones left in charge of oiling the cogs, a true Anarchist enters the control-room not to smash instruments, but instead, turns dials, flicks switches, presses buttons, re-writes programs and codes, in order to help alter the directional course of the very Beast itself. 11.21.2012 .

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Babylon-Kids

When job positions within monopolies prevent us from working together
towards a goal far greater than lining the pockets of a few,
when schools stop us from educating ourselves,
and are instead, assembly lines churning-out tin soldiers,
when governments prevent humanity from achieving self-determination,
when media keeps us informed about current events,
rather than us becoming involved in the events,
then only in resistance will we find each other;
will we find ourselves in the purest sense. 

The masqued ones are erasing themselves
within a society in which everything is under surveillance,
measured, quantified and appraised,
where everything is determined by resumes,
credit history, internet profiles.
Background checks, gossip columns, intelligence agencies,
conspire to drag every last detail out into the open.

The masqued ones live in an in-between world
being squeezed by other worlds.
It is a world existing in the hope of understanding reality, 
by changing reality.
If the powers that be, can reveal the hidden world,
dragging it out under the searing spotlight of scrutiny,
under the spotlight of current mass-ideology,
then one more possible world reality becomes extinct
under the boots of Fascists using the freedom of speech
to silence the freedoms of everyone else;
eventually, even including themselves.

The controllers want to show there are no unchartered paths
leading away from the programmable masses of mundanity.
Therefore, the masque is seductive to those not fully conditioned
to become blind sheep led by shepherds, towards the slaughter.
The masque suggests mystery, unknowns,
alternative endings to a story covered in mildew.
The masque symbolizes a threat to an entrenched establishment.
The masque becomes the chrysalis in which a pupa
can evolve into something different; into something new.


....in warrens deep below,
Babylon-kids write love songs,

and above ground, people preach rights and freedoms, 
while enslaving the world in the chains of a democracy
that has never truly existed.

Democracy is a dream turned nightmare,
so the Babylon-kids are keeping the dream
of a choose-your-own-adventure, alive.




12.03.2012




.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fallen Prince has Risen - Michael

Burning so bright
With new found life
Released from his ball and chain
Out of the dark
And into the light
Flying… on wings of freedom again.

As he writes his life
His soul ignites
In flames of wisdom and sight
Brilliantly claiming 
His God given right
As his truth kills the evil ‘Black Knight’.



Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Breathless

Clouds hang low, muffling the maple-covered mountainside.
Fog rises from a saturated earth, weakly wetting a soft breeze.
Mist maintains the connection 'tween earth and eternity.

Within the gloom, where barren treetops scrap the sky, twigs green.
Hope springs with random bits of color to the opened mortal eye.
Soon, soon, a brighter pallet will appear, light will live. 

A gray day lies upon the wane and weary eye of morn.
Soon, wind-born blossoms wipe the cinders from the pale eye of sol,
melting the chill of fog and mist, warming the home of man.
  



First Published by Mused: BellaOnLine Literary Review 2015

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Angel with a Broken Wing

Sitting alone again, wondering if you're okay.
being alone, i remembered how i wanted you to stay.
looking for something I can hold on to.
It's the pillow that reminds me of you.

Every time the clock ticks,
I would always find a way to entertain myself &
hoping i can do some magic tricks.
before i close my eyes & go to sleep,
every night , i hope, i can be w/ you for just a glimpse.

every time it rains, i would always go outside,
but i guess no one would like to hold my hand & be by my side
I touched my face & i was already crying under the rain.
will there be someone willing to cast away all this pain?

until now, no one would risk,to wipe off these tears.
The shadow of my past, well those are my fears.
i always want to hide myself from this world's madness.
I often feel that I'm inside a bubble or in a dark sanctuary,
where there is sadness.

I hope there will be a wishing star that will pass by.
I'll make another wish,to find the guy who cant make me cry.
i sat at the corner of my room, and in my hand, was a ring,
a question that even i cant answer,
"will i forever be waiting like an Angel w/ a broken Wing"?

Copyright © Marianne Nolido | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

DECEMBER 2015

DECEMBER 2015 - "For what is our hope, our joy, or the crown, in which we glory in the presence of our Lord Jesus when He comes?" 1 Thessalonians 2:19

This year America waits,
With great anticipation.
For peace, love and joy,
Throughout the nation.

Christians are under attack,
For what is in their heart.
Hatred fills the air,
Our nation torn apart.

Death in our schools,
Murder on the streets.
Hurry, Jesus, we pray,
Before their goal is complete.

Freedom Religion,
A promise written true.
Not it's only if you follow theirs,
Christians know not what tio do.

We read more every day,
How we must suffer for His Cause.
Evil ones in control,
they pass the laws.

There was a time in history,
It was so long ago.
God sent His Only Son,
To teach us how to go.

In a humble stable He was born,
Written Word said it would be.
People given a reason to believe,
Praised Him in songs of victory.

We are lost without His son,
The Bright Star for all to see.
Please give us another sign,
To set Your People free.

RAYMOND V. MORGAN






Copyright © Raymond Morgan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Will Carry Your Burden

Unnecessary anguish that keeps you withdrawn heartache and heartbreak 
continues to weight heavy for your sake you come undone and in an instant your 
gone excuses are enough to justify when times get rough. So complicated and 
jaded misunderstood swept away unexplained limbo in eternities irrevocable 
flame, your not satisfied hollow reinsurance shows when you cry your personal 
prison grows accustom to screams of loathing. My obsession to surround your 
sorrow with calm and paint a prefect picture of stimulated reason to ease your 
instability, breathe with me rest your frustration and regret break this darkness 
and confess precious time will wait while your captivated in change I will carry 
your burden.

Copyright © Cole Beck | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad

Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Last Moment

Day by day my body decays
And my soul waits
For the warmth of your embrace
The meaning I cannot trace
The time is now to receive your grace
I remember much
Yet memories past have no bearing
I can see much
Life
The meaning almost clear
The dust settles and chaos vanquished
Peace and love echoed again and again through the halls of time
Bear no weight until the final moments
Jubilance captured
A single frame as I lay
Time will no longer wait and I can no longer stay
Weep not
Harmony engulfs me
Symphonies escort me
And angels guide me
My loving Father waits for me
I can almost see Him
I certainly feel Him
The old world fades to grey
Weep not
A brilliant glow not of this world fills me
A love not felt by mortals
It is the beginning of the end
My breath shallow
My thoughts clear
My soul readies
Do not weep
He is waiting for me
This is exactly where I am supposed to be

Copyright © Sean Taylor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Act One (The Scholar of life- Opening Speech)

The love of life is a very beautiful and splendid thing. Regretfully, it’s something many
fail to ever recognize. One day, I stopped to contemplate the beauty of compassion and
forgiveness. This is where the true beauty of life is found. When we stop to recognize
that personal feelings are less important than the feelings we are able to create in
others, then we have started to embrace the true beauty of life. To our lives poetry is a
beautiful gift from God. It enables us to step out of our external surroundings and into a
beautiful place, which of course, is the place known as our soul. From its depths we start
to realize the true power that is found in words. Words have the ability to create
feelings in others. Words can open eyes to see the beauty that has not yet been seen.
Words can take us on journeys to places unknown. Open our minds to philosophical
views,which had previously never been contemplated. Thus, leading us into a world, which
has never been seen through our eyes. 
      We are poets, children of God, creators of feelings, and scholars of life. It is
only from the bottom of the well that we learn to truly embrace and understand the warmth
and brightness of the sun. It is only from the top of the mountain that we are able to
understand the darkness that lie in the back of the cave. Until our soul has been emptied
we never fully appreciate what it means for it to be full. Words are no less than the
knife we can use to slice open the cake of life. Thus, enabling us to share pieces of 
ourselves. What truly matters in this life is the fact that we are able to share and give
a little piece of ourselves. True success can only be measured in our ability to share our
experiences in life. Thus, enabling
others to feel and experience the depths of our knowledge. This is our gift and we should
understand the depth of its responsibility. We should all vow to enhance our gift to the
best of our abilities. We all have so much to learn and such little time with which to
learn it. 
        At the end of the play, as the stage dims and the curtains fall, I leave the
theater. Outside, alone at the corner I realize; sometimes I feel like a blind man
standing at a crossroad in the fog. Shuddering at the thought, I tighten my coat and walk
quietly down the dimly lit street of remorse.


I have no idea if this is correct but I did enjoy myself.
For Constance's contest. ps. I have reset these lines
many times but they keep moving when I save the
poem. I guess its a poem anyhow. If it happens 
again I apologize.

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Enlightenment Harmony Hope

                       I Saw A Light               
Enlightenment Hope & Harmony advanced to help
reuniting our warm bodies disregarded the period 
of our aloneness when far apart we were over 
a decade.

Harmony enables us love each other having 
everything to gain allowing our hope not to fail 
notice how deeply in touch our instincts are, 
those endless years of being separated,
will succeed to enlighten our nights, not to 
abandon each others arms.

Hope will never sense the feeling of being senseless,
we will generate great power to recuperate 
time lost by exhaling our passions breathing while 
watching an illusion of one big red heart appearing on top 
of a humble humming wave, 
Forever In Love.

Destiny suddenly turned its way when realizing 
a greater force does exist, although she never yelled 
or called for help when being in distress, now he is 
here spending the night undisturbed to enjoy the 
happenings that awaits in that panoramic refuge.

Their arising love will be demonstrated while flying
half naked towards the oceans crashing waves to 
harmonize parts of their bodies, feel the depth of yearning
to excel in their coming life, desire to love and make 
love on the shore while listening to the melody of the 
waves splashing with tremendous power to wash away 
anyone who will dare break them apart, belonging
to long for each other, a promise will keep them
united eternally.

           The evening ended prepared to engrave those
                             three words on our chests, 
                     Enlightenment Hope and Harmony 
          trusting our bodies never to be separated ever again.


      Therese Bacha  (Win No. 2)
        23/4/2013
For the contest of Russel Sivey. Harmony Hope , and Enlightenment

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

23C


The digital face displays a naughty grin. 5:23am.
Sliding into seat 23C, I double-check my ticket just to make sure:

Seat 23C on Flight 753241698, with a designated lift-off time of 6:08am.


Beside me, chuckles Robert Anton Wilson's spirit:

"See, this is exactly why we appointed you as a Cardinal(the bird?) 
in The Church of The 23 Enigma. You are a perfect fit.
Son, this is a destiny you cannot change, 
so why not just make the best of it.

The plane might crash, be refurbished or decommissioned,
but the flight itself doesn't ever stop. Ever. 
Once you get on, get in, the flight stays on an infinite course.
Thank you for flying with: Synchronicity 23 Airways. Please, enjoy your flight."








2.24.2013: 23:57

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love Has No Reply

Love has no reply-it just waits- 
love has no reply - it just prays- 
Love understands- as it hopes 
that rage will be quelled- 
  
That the core of your heart will 
be overwhelmed- 
and overruled-Disenchantments 
of the venial mind-are allowable 
If you never intend to exhale- 
then inhalation is inevitable. 
  
Demons seek company - 
Presenting illusions to keep misery 
side tract' in sorrowful elegies 
  
The cardinal mentation-will automatically 
tick when you tock -- 
Tock when you tick- 
You came here with no instructions-- 
Love requires no action 
Does not have to reply 
  
No matter the jargon 
the meaning of "no"is the same. 
Whether you wax or wane
with wagers parlayed 
invest in the" WAIT" like the yellow light 
"Spread your bet-green light- keep moving 
Not always smart- to bet on a sure thing- 
red light stop wait -think about 
what you're thinking of doing- 
win win situation 
. 
Prior truth is not necessary for 
what is "yet to be believed" 
Permanent solutions 
should never be applied to A   
temporary condition. 
  
The efficacious-ness of the syringe as a method in 
seeking answers to concepts --is horribly ineffective.   
Love has no reply--- No outside stimuli - 
No dos or don't s ... from the I ... 
Strictly and inside Job

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Skyping with Satan


Me: Since Samhain I have been chatting with Satan on Skype..On this date he celebrates his fall from grace..

Satan: Thank you Ken..You look marvelous today..What is your routine? You haven't aged in years...Is it diet and gym, the ladies and your erotic poetry?

Me: You are way too kind..(blushing)

Satan: Really, I enjoy your sense of eroticism, you have a fondness for the ladies I see..You should read "Justine" by my friend the Marquis de Sade..In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice...

Me: Are you saying it is only through pain one can arrive at pleasure?

Satan: I'm saying you are unhappy because you desire things that cannot be..That's what desire IS, the need for what we cannot have..It's called greed...

Me: I have nothing to fear here..

Satan: Well Ken, there's always the truth..Maybe peace is acquired by the currency of loss..You are in love with perception..I have many friends here in hell with me you may have heard of, Anton Lavey, Aleister Crowley, Adolf Hitler among others..You should meet them..

Me: No thank you, I prefer to "Fear and Tremble" like Kierkegaard..I was taught your greatest truth was convincing the world there was only only one of you..

Satan: You know God loves you..

Me: Is that why you take interest?

Satan: You seek a measure of comfort from Women..Don't you know that love is the laziest theory for the meaning of life?

Me: But was not Faust saved in the end by the love of a woman?

Satan: I will not elaborate on your misconceptions..

Me: I'm just an ordinary human being with flesh, blood and bones..Nothing hard to decipher.. I wish for women and have needs..

Satan: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions..Charming saying really..I say it is paved with intriguing questions...

Me: It is late, I have to go Mr. Satan...What time is it?

Satan: How much time do you need?

Me: No thanks..lol I have to go....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

This Perfect Day

Friday had been the saddest day
That my young life had ever known
The loneliness that my heart felt
Just would not leave me alone

The clouds that filled the afternoon
With their darkness and their dread
Left remorseful feelings alive inside
Along with feelings that seemed so dead

On Saturday when I did awaken
My world was much worse it seemed
For the gloom and darkness it embraced
Left my mind aloof in sad daydreams

Of what my eyes had seen to transpire
On that dark, cold Friday afternoon
I only prayed and hope what was written
Would come to fruition so very soon

As the last twenty four hours ticked away
The hope in my heart did begin to rise
For it began to beat so steady again
Waiting for the prophesied moment to arrive

But many in the room praying around me
Saw their faith begin to slip and fade
Not believing that what was happening
Would be much more than just another day

My heart awaiting the time to come closer
Anticipating the joy it would soon receive
Felt the rhythms of the approaching moment
For deep within it never failed to believe

I heard the most beautiful enchanting melodies
Embracing me from deep within His tomb
And upon hearing the hearty voices of angels
I sensed He would be rising so very soon

And the last twenty four hours did finally end
Sweeping my sadness and loneliness away
Replacing it with pure joy, and happiness
For He rose from the grave on a perfect day.

Copyright © Wendell Brown | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Your Time Has Come (Prose Poetry)

Your time has come like the rising sun.  Stand up for life created by God’s love as 
the dove descends from above.  He has a plan for you to be one with Him as He 
is with you thus making you brand new.  Your life should be more than just the 
ordinary existence, let Him strengthen you as your soul runs the distance.  Be 
filled with His spirit and let your light shine.  Manifest His joyful glory and 
overcome obstacles in His name while unto Him you render an acclaim.  Move 
ahead and be the lighthouse of strength without relenting; thus ascending from 
the bottomless pit into His eternal light of creation. Experience the fullness of 
your destiny with God in the middle of your future.  Build your foundation in His 
word and spirit.  Empower your soul with His tenacity; He will determine your 
capacity.  Be anointed by His grace and experience the reality of not just a 
dream.  A light lit for living liturgy. He has you covered with His Holy Spirit.  Now 
step out—your time has come!


Comments:  A prose poem is written in prose form.  It does not have line breaks 
or varying topography as a regular poem. During the mid-nineteenth century, 
Charles Baudelaire published Petis poemes en prose.  Oscar Wilde, T.S Eliot 
and others have written in this genre.   The genre started in France and is now 
worldwide.  The use of concrete language and figurative speech such as 
imagery, rhymes, personification, contrast, simile, metaphor, alliteration, 
metonymy, synecdoche, abstraction and the like should be incorporated based 
on the desire of the poet. The piece may focus on language, a story, or 
something similar based on the choice of the poet.


Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

In a burst of color and animal choruses 
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom 
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the 
driveway on Grandpa’s farm 

I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops 
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the 
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn

Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood 
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses 
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets  
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves, 
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now

Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented 
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking 
their melodious summer anthem of  ‘All is well with the world’ 
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life

Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and 
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change

The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along 
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye 
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a  heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of  hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path 
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.

Brenda V Northeast

Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Message Of Hope

Life’s tortures seem a part of my biological design absorbing pain, a phenotype and solutions, seemingly advancing in a slow motion ten hands all over, tearing my blouse hundred long nails shredding my skin down to the dermis The waters have turned salty and all edibles-decayed with maggots I’m roasted by hunger and fried with thirst pressed by two rocks and the valley of escape filled with thorns and reptiles I’ve been tied to the Earth for even animals to trample upon escaping from a dangerous path lands me on a slippery ground sliding down, having a free fall with no help But! The same life which once passes urine on me has now provided a fresh stream for a deep bath the same sky, once filled with pregnant dark clouds shines the light of hope and freedom I’ve been hit but not crushed, bruised but not bleeding heated but not burnt and swallowed but not chewed I’m out! I’ve overcomed and now I’m free!

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mood

Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

DAMAGED MY TRUE LOVE

written 17th Sept 2013



When it comes to love, I AM poisonous
 don't let me curse another, leave me loveless

For the first time in my life, I felt your pain and cried for your heart
 my heart finally hurts, knowing I passed this pain from the start

Please find help to set your heart free
 trust me, it's not a life you recover from easily 

Damaged goods I told you, unrepairable
 but some how, you managed the impossible

Unlovable for my entire life
 yet you had no problem, getting me to become your wife

Yes, it's been more than both of us should have ever had to bear
 at this moment, every cell in my body is overwhelmed, so I really do care

Please don't enter my life's pain and despair  
 you don't deserve it, you are so patient and filled with such love

I'm sorry I let myself fall in love knowing it would poison you
 soul mates forever and eternity, my love belongs only to you...



Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

To weather the storm

Storms above me, storms below, Storms of violence, Storms of sadness, Storms of anger Storms of people laughing, mocking my existence Sorrow, and the joy of the few lights of hope and friendship echoes Through the storms The storms surround me night and day No land sight Poseidon’s rage is all I see No mercy found, twix’t night and day But for the brief repast The gift night brings To weather the storms I travel unseen, unheard Past those who give the storm its powers To the places in my dreams Where night and day are side by side And Wolves gather below the moons Midday and night, to sing Their songs of peace Of legends from long ago Of loyalty to their pack And the fight to survive. To weather the storms I look to the wolves As a cub, to the mother The strong live to be the hunters Whilst the weak become the prey The storm takes all Partial to none it hunts One by one, boat by boat, all fall to the storm Human, Animal, Angel, Demon, the storm resides in us all waiting to take hold to drag us to its depths when hope is gone darkness rules until the Light is found hope is gone

Copyright © Wolf Lief | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

One Drop - Prose

These forgotten badlands are arid and parched. It’s felt the blistering, desert hot winds.
Turbulent gritty sand storms have crossed these lands. What was once lively, thriving is 
now only a desolate, thirsty terrain. After being drought-ridden for so long, the ground is 
hard, unyielding even to the smallest root.  Even vultures have stopped flying overhead 
for how can something die if everything is already dead?Day after desiccated day, the sun 
beams down, relentless. Although the night is somewhat welcoming, it is still so thick and 
humid that it doesn’t provide much comfort. But there’s a scent in the air….something 
somewhat familiar but from ages ago. There’s a change in the atmosphere…and an eerie 
silence that stretches for miles, like time has stood still. Splat! There…a scattered, dark 
circle on the ground…disappearing almost instantly. Suddenly, the scorching sky breaks 
open. Rain…cool, wet liquid…it does exist. Looking across the horizon, you can see it. Like 
a silky veil draping over the lands in a steady, fluid motion. There is no other sound 
around…just the sound of this drumming rain landing, making everything it touches glisten 
and gleam like diamonds. Giving drink to a once thought unquenchable territory, it opens 
up wide and soaks it all in. The water running, dripping into the trenches that were only 
once small cracks…..reaching depths unknown to bring forth life of what was once dead. If 
there were such a smell as years of dehydration and depravity finally receiving 
sustenance, this smell would be it. Such a beauty to behold…so much water that it stands
in pools until this hardened ground can learn what it’s like to soften in order to accept it. 
It’s everywhere, can you see it? Abundant, unwavering water. Everything has been so 
barren, you can see for miles…but…wait..what’s this? Something so small that you would 
almost miss it. Emerald green, a majestic inch…a sprout….a sprout of hope….a sprout of 
life…

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

STORMS CLOUDS

                                      STORMS   DON’T ALWAYS LAST 
	
 Shipwrecked, my ship destined for destruction
 As I sailed across the ocean, storm waves beat against me 
Destined for destruction, destined for disaster
Moments of despair, silenced with fear, I tremble
My heart raced with beat of uncertainty	
Never would I imagine that this day would come 
Waters  surrounds ,  and engulfed me 
My ship continued on a course I have never experienced before
This time for sure I thought I would die 
While I sat there praying that the storm would soon be over 
Tears streams down my eyes as I battled to reach the seashore
I was lost and afraid  ,sure to sink,  lost my anchor  
Then in wink of a moment everything felt  quiet
I rush hastily  to the deck just to make sure ,it was then i realized
Suddenly the rain stopped, the thunder stop rolling 
The wind was calmed, the sea was silent 
As I gazed across I could see land for sure
It was then I recognized  that even though I go through the storms of life  
Storms  clouds always  pass.






Copyright © NANCY KNIGHT | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fishing

I grabbed my fishing pole and all the fishing lures I thought I would need.  Now, I’m on my way to fish for my daily meal.
	When I got to the waterfront, there were no fish for me to catch.  I was disappointed, so I decided to sit down and think.
	While sitting there thinking, a man came over to me.  He ask, why are you just sitting here with your fishing pole and lures?
	I told the man coming here was a big mistake, so, I’m sitting here because there are no fish for me to catch.
	The man said follow me, I’ll take you to a place where you can fish, you won’t need your fishing pole or your lures and you won’t have any regrets.
	I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I followed him anyway to see what was his plan.
	He took me to a place where a crowd of people had gathered.  I said to him, there is no water so how can I fish, what can I hope to catch.
	I said to myself, I’ll never catch any fish because too may people are here, so now my hope had been totally shattered.
	He said listen to what I  say, then you will understand why I brought you to this place.
	He stood in front of the crowd and he started to speak.  His voice was soft and gentle, like sweet honey to a bee.
	He spoke of love, kindness, forgiveness and many other wonderful thing.  I forgot about wanting to catch fish for me to eat.
	He keep talking and I started to understand.  He wanted me to fish for lost souls, so I can teach them about God’s holy plan. 
	I’m no longer a fisherman for creatures of the sea.  I am a fisherman for the Lord, that was His ultimate plan for me.

Copyright © ROSALYN LAMPKIN | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Be Still

And the westerly wind,
Will blow a sea of waving grass
And the sea's fine mist 
Will breathe drops like dew
And the sinking suns
Will cloak the sky's horizon
And the moons of Autumn
Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest
And the violet tinged edge of night
Will cry for the white bursting of the stars
And the carved thrust of the mountain range
Will challenge the forever yielding blue
And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening
Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams
Rise

Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamer

Close your eyes for awhile my friend, I heard there lies a moon far behind the black sky, I heard lovers were dancing beneath, can you hear them singing? I can feel their tipsy steps making rhymes on floor, and smell of perfumes filling the air, I heard a sun rises to brighten up their world, and birds do sing them charming melodies at morning, they say they have roses in colors and beautiful trees in the streets, and have they told you about the sea yet? They say it smells so wonderful and the delicate air of seas caresses their cheeks with soft wet breezes, oh my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the fragile ghosts that we are!

“Hush” whispered to me, “I lighted up a moon inside my heart and I smell lilies and jasmine in my nose, my dreams play tunes my heart dance on, they speak to me all night and there I see a starry night floats above, I feel the warmth of a sun in my soul as it hugs tight, whispering to me hymns of love and joy, lightening candles for hopes which had accompanied me amongst the dark, why have you closed your eyes my friend? Look through the colorful roses I painted for you with eyes wide open, let the lights off so you would see clearer, let the lights off so you can brighten up the world that hides with you, for my friend, what have we seen in the dark but the free spirits that we have become!


* If you enjoyed this piece, follow the link and share your thoughts
http://echoes19.wordpress.com/2013/01/22/dreamer-2/

Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pawns

We the old and broken, have become the pawns
in the grand game of politics. We are as in the game 
of chess of the lowest esteem, expendable 
if not worse unwanted, a barganing chip.
For three years we haven't even received 
a cost of living increasee
while their income they have 
increased handsomely.

They have as they so often do broken
their promise to us. Social security was a
promise made by them, that we paid
for when we were able to work, 
extracted from every pay check we earned.
Those  revenues where to be put in a trust
for us to draw from when the time came
that we had need of them. However our 
government for decades have used those 
funds as they pleased, for things other than 
what they were intended for. Why am I not surprised? 
because our so called public servants have 
broken  countless promises and in the process 
lined their pockets from the spoils of their deceptions. 
The Bill of Rights and the Constitution
they have shredded and the first casulity 
was the truth, now we are the second. 
Most of our fatrhers fought and many died to
defend the rights that they have cast into the 
the trash heap.  Our national debt is now beyond
any hope of us ever repaying, robbing the young of
any hope of a future or even a job, taxes they will have
to pay tremendous to pay for there folly. China Told 
President Obama, We're not going to lend you any more,
sure can't say I blame them, probably never pay back what
we already borrowed form them. England is burning because
of the same folly of the politicians, won't be surprised
if the same thing takes place here. People with no hope
and no future what do they expect. They'll go on filling their
pockets with the taxes we all pay, the don't care it's all
well and fine for them. Will give themselves another big
pay increse next year, you just wait and see. Like mother
Hubbard everyone elses cubbard is bare, no bone for
the doggies anymore. They have destroyed everything
 Along with, "One nation under God". This once upon a time
good nation has quite literally gone to the "Dogs".  The only
Thing that I can say is that I wouldn't have said before,
I'm ashamed of what this nation has became.

Copyright © Jack Ross jr. | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Is There Still Hope

I beseech thee to
answer
Is there still
hope???

Forgetting their
vows of chaste they
become lecherous
Fighting for power,
they become
ambitous.
Their actions make
people shock
For they forget why
they put on the
cassock.
Respect for God, our
clergies no longer
have
But so greedy with
the things they
have.
They make not,
benedictions to
empty pockets
But go for the rich
to enrich
themselves.
Churches are now
business centers for
money
Clergies bless only
those who make the
offertory box full.

SO BROTHER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

They stand as if
pious to duty
But pious are they,
to money.
They check not the
motor
But go for “500frs”
which is their
motto.
They can be seen
standing with zeal
Hands stretch, they
stand still
First, they stamp
After collecting
bribe, they champ

SO SISTER, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

The rich live
mysteriously
And enjoy themselves
like angels
While the poor live
in mysery
And die because of
negligence.

TO YOU, IS THERE
STILL HOPE??

Embezzlement in
Cameroon is a virtue
It is practised in
all offices
Thieves go in broad
daylight unscathed
While the innocent
ones are caught and
they cant fight.

My country is said
to be democratic
But elections have
never been smooth
For  a score and
ten, the president
has stayed in power
Using deceit and the
gun to rule.
IS THIS HOW IT
SHOULD BE??

Virgins have now
liquidated
themselves
They prefer being
ravishe.
Whores, they become
in quest for money;
My black girls don’t
like their colour
They strive to be
whites
Thus, monsters they
become in a bid to
peel their skin
Very few believe in
“black is beauty.”

Brothers copulate
sisters
While fathers
copulate daughters.

IS THERE STILL HOPE?

" 1st price, poetry
contest, 
 poemsclub.com,
April 2014"

Copyright © temajung michael | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Daisy

A single daisy grew along the fence
Standing tall and happy
Among the weeds and scattered yard waste
In the strong sun not yet of summer
And I offered a silent salute
As I sauntered by
Because I daresay
I envied its resolve

Copyright © Brandi Elizabeth Brown | Year Posted 2014